Chapter 7 - The Cottage in Vermont
Three weeks later.
The high-stakes corporate drama of Boston was left three hundred miles behind as my SUV glided up a quiet dirt road in northern Vermont.
The autumn leaves were a brilliant, blazing canopy of crimson, gold, and orange. Nestled at the foot of a sweeping mountain valley sat a beautifully renovated red timber barn, surrounded by crisp mountain air, stacked firewood, and three acres of open green meadows.
Clara’s home.
I parked the car in the gravel driveway and turned off the engine.
The back doors instantly flew open, and the four boys spilled out onto the gravel, shouting with joy as they ran toward the wide meadow, kicking a soccer ball through the fallen leaves.
Clara stepped out of the passenger seat, taking a deep breath of the mountain air, a soft, peaceful smile spreading across her face.
I walked around the car, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder as we watched our sons play in the sun.
"It’s strange being back here," Clara whispered, leaning back into my chest. "For six years, this place was my hideout. It was where I hid from the world, where I cried myself to sleep on cold winter nights thinking you were gone."
"And now?" I asked softly, kissing her cheek.
"Now it feels like a memory," she turned in my arms, resting her hands on my chest, looking up into my eyes with boundless love. "A memory of how strong we had to be to reach today."
The legal war in Boston was effectively over.
Victoria had signed a full corporate settlement, relinquishing all voting shares in Montgomery Development in exchange for federal prosecutors dropping active prison terms, agreeing instead to five years of supervised probation and absolute isolation from our family. A permanent court injunction barred her from ever approaching Julian, Leo, Oliver, or Arthur.
The board had unanimously appointed me as sole Chairman and CEO. But my first executive act had been to appoint a trusted management committee to oversee day-to-day operations, allowing me to split my time between Boston and Vermont.
"Dad! Watch this!" Leo yelled from the meadow, kicking the soccer ball high into the air.
"Great kick, Leo!" I called back, laughing as Arthur chased the ball down the hill, stumbling over his own tiny boots before scrambling back up.
"They love you so much, Julian," Clara whispered, her green eyes shining. "Every night before they go to sleep, Arthur asks me if you're really going to be here in the morning. He still thinks it’s a dream."
"It’s not a dream," I took her right hand, lifting it to my lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. "And to prove it..."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
Clara’s breath caught in her throat.
This wasn't the corporate diamond ring I had carried to the glass conservatory in Boston. This was a simple, breathtaking vintage ring crafted from rose gold, set with a raw emerald stone that matched the exact shade of her eyes—a ring I had commissioned from a local artist in Cape Cod six years ago, which I had kept locked in my private safe through every dark year of our separation.
I dropped to one knee on the soft autumn grass.
"Clara Vance," I said, my voice filled with every ounce of devotion in my soul. "Six years ago, I promised to spend the rest of my life making you happy. I lost six years, but I will spend the next sixty making up for every single day. Will you marry me?"
Clara dropped to her knees beside me in the grass, throwing her arms around my neck, her tears spilling onto my collar.
"Yes," she sobbed happily into my neck. "Yes, Julian! Always yes!"
From the meadow, four small voices suddenly erupted in wild cheering.
"MOM AND DAD ARE HUGGING!" Oliver yelled, kicking the soccer ball into the air.
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"IS DAD STAYING FOR DINNER?!" Arthur shouted, running toward us as fast as his tiny legs could carry him.
I pulled Clara into a deep, loving kiss, surrounded by the crisp Vermont breeze, the blazing autumn colors, and the sound of our four sons running toward us across the grass.
